Alice, the middle Ryan sister, functions as a protagonist whose identity is deeply enmeshed in her roles as a dutiful daughter, wife, and mother. When her sister Maggie is asked by her girlfriend to describe Alice, Maggie uses the word “mom,” reflecting how Alice is viewed in the family. As the narrative progresses, Alice begins to move away from this identity, gradually prioritizing herself. She is a round, dynamic character who initially embodies the archetype of the martyr, tirelessly managing the needs of her immediate family and her aging parents while suppressing her own ambitions. Her life is a meticulously managed series of obligations, and she harbors a quiet resentment, particularly toward Cait, for abdicating her share of the family responsibility. This resentment surfaces in passive-aggressive comments about the catered dinner and her sister’s expensive taste. Alice also feels resentful against her husband, Kyle, since most of the housework falls on her. Unable to communicate her feelings to Kyle at the beginning of the novel, Alice feels suffocated.

Alice’s personal desires are represented by her burgeoning interior-design work, a passion that offers an escape from her domestic duties and a path toward a separate identity. This dream is what feels most threatened by her unexpected and unwanted pregnancy. The pregnancy serves as the primary catalyst for Alice’s transformation. It forces her to confront the unsustainability of her self-sacrificing role and the potential obliteration of her personal aspirations. Her internal struggle is profound, pitting her faith and family expectations against her own well-being and desires. The turning point comes during a conversation with Isabel when she revises her one-word description of herself from the functional “reliable” to the aspirational “blooming,” signaling a nascent shift in her self-perception. Alice’s one-word description of herself is juxtaposed against Maggie’s, signaling how Alice is moving beyond her family’s perception of her.

Alice’s decision to have an abortion is a radical act of self-preservation and agency. In telling Kyle, “I’m telling you what I’ve decided” (199), she reclaims authority over her body and her future. This act of defiance allows her to find a new, more honest footing in her marriage and, in a moment of profound empathy, to offer her mother the acceptance that she was never able to give Maggie, demonstrating a break from the family’s cycle of secrets and judgment.

Maggie, the youngest Ryan sister, serves as the novel’s observer and reluctant truth seeker. One of Maggie’s key traits is avoidance, a coping mechanism developed within a family where secrets are the norm. She describes her family members as “liars” but quickly acknowledges that she is one too. This is most evident in her decision to conceal her affair with Sarah from her new girlfriend, Isabel, a secret that threatens to destroy the first healthy relationship she has ever had. Maggie’s character is profoundly shaped by the trauma of discovering Topher’s body, an event that locked her into a role of quiet suffering and reinforced her tendency to avoid direct confrontation, especially with her mother, whose love has always seemed conditional to Maggie. Nora has been ambivalent toward Maggie’s sexual orientation, even sending the teenage Maggie to the family priest for counseling in a bid to change her.

The narrative follows Maggie’s painful journey toward accountability. Isabel’s presence at the Folly acts as a catalyst, with her honesty and directness forcing Maggie to confront the corrosive nature of her own secrecy. Isabel’s assertion that lying and avoiding are “what make things worse” becomes a central lesson for Maggie (237). Her fight with Isabel and their subsequent reconciliation push her to finally be honest about her past and her mistakes. This newfound courage extends to her family relationships. In a conversation with her nephew James, Maggie speaks plainly about Topher’s suicide, breaking a significant family taboo. Her most significant breakthrough occurs near the end of the novel during a late-night conversation with her mother in the painting studio. Instead of retreating, Maggie gently but firmly articulates her need for acceptance, which opens the door for a moment of rare, unspoken understanding between her and Nora. Maggie’s development is about learning that true intimacy, with a partner or a parent, is impossible without honesty. Because Maggie breaks past patterns and accepts a new reality, she is a dynamic character.

Luke serves as a central catalyst in the novel; he is a figure from the past whose return forces the Ryan family to confront its buried traumas. As Daniel’s older brother and Topher’s best friend, he is inextricably linked to the tragedy that defines the narrative. In the present, he is charismatic and successful but also carries the weight of his own grief and guilt. Unlike the Ryans, however, Luke has actively worked toward resolution. He reveals to Cait that he tried to return the lawsuit settlement money and that he has dedicated his life to philanthropy, suggesting a deep-seated need to create meaning from tragedy. He represents an alternative path to the Ryans’ emotional stasis, one defined by accepting the past and forgiving oneself. His presence is disruptive, particularly for Cait, challenging her long-held resentments and forcing her to examine her own part in the accident and its aftermath. While his motives for reconnecting with Cait are initially ambiguous, it becomes clear that he is also seeking a form of closure, which he ultimately achieves by speaking the truth about the past.

Nora is the Ryan family matriarch and a woman whose character is forged by the hardship of her Irish orphanage upbringing and cemented by the loss of her only son. Maggie describes her as “opaque,” a fitting term for her emotionally reserved and often rigid nature. Her primary motivation is self-preservation through avoidance. This is powerfully symbolized by Mrs. Larkin’s unopened condolence card, which represents Nora’s decades-long refusal to confront painful truths. She clings to the belief that the lawsuit was the sole cause of Topher’s decline, as it provides a clear target for her anger and absolves the family of more complex complicity. Her devout Catholicism is both a source of solace and a barrier to connection, particularly in her inability to fully accept Maggie’s relationship with Isabel. Though largely a static character, Nora experiences a moment of profound grace when she offers Alice unconditional support for her decision to have an abortion, revealing a hidden well of empathy born from her own secret trauma. At the end of the novel, Nora also seems more open to offering unconditional support to Maggie. This act suggests a capacity for change and marks a pivotal moment in the family’s journey toward healing.

Robert, the family patriarch, is a quiet, stoic figure who retreats from the family’s emotional turmoil into the world of his basement train collection. Maggie’s one-word description for him is “obliging,” which reflects his pragmatic decision to settle the Larkin lawsuit to avoid a public trial, an act that created a lasting rift with Nora. While he appears more emotionally detached than his wife, his grief is shown to be just as profound, if more deeply buried. The novel’s most startling revelation of his trauma occurs during the raccoon incident when he suffers a moment of profound confusion and calls his grandson James by his dead son’s name, shouting, “Topher, lift the lid!” (207). This moment shatters his stoic facade, exposing the raw, unprocessed grief that lies beneath. His secret conversation with Luke years ago, in which he refused the settlement money and accepted Topher’s culpability, reveals a private sense of justice and accountability that contrasts sharply with Nora’s public narrative of blame. Robert embodies The Inescapable Haunting of the Past, demonstrating how trauma can lie dormant for years before erupting into the present.

Although deceased before the novel’s main timeline begins, Topher, the oldest Ryan sibling, exists as a memory who haunts every character and action. He is remembered as a charismatic, reckless, and troubled young man who was unable to recover from his guilt over Daniel’s death. After Daniel died, Topher dropped out of college, took up reckless jobs, and developed a substance addiction. His death by suicide was the second great trauma—after Daniel’s death—that fractured the Ryan family, compounding their grief and locking them in a state of arrested development. For his parents, he remains an idealized lost son. For his sisters, he is a source of guilt, anger, and sorrow. Maggie, who found his body, was particularly traumatized by his death and his final lie. His memory functions as a symbol of the family’s collective failure to communicate and confront painful truths.

Daniel’s accidental death is the novel’s inciting incident and the original trauma that precipitated decades of grief, guilt, and secrets for both the Ryan and Larkin families. He is remembered only in flashbacks as an impulsive teenager who, in a moment of drunken recklessness, caused his own death. He functions less as a fully developed character and more as a powerful symbol of irreversible loss. The lighthouse where the accident occurred stands as a monument to his death, a constant physical reminder of the moment that forever altered the course of everyone’s lives.

Isabel enters the story as an outsider and serves as a vital agent of truth and emotional honesty. Her stability and self-possession stand in stark contrast to the Ryan family’s dysfunction. As a playwright interested in unearthing history, she is uniquely positioned to see the secrets and avoidance tactics that define the family’s interactions. Her relationship with Maggie offers the promise of a healthy, authentic connection, but it is contingent on Maggie’s willingness to be honest. Isabel’s refusal to tolerate deceit forces Maggie’s personal crisis and subsequent growth, demonstrating that true intimacy requires accountability. Her simple question to Maggie, “Don’t you see that doesn’t work?” (237), encapsulates her role as a catalyst for change.

Alice’s husband, Kyle, represents order, convention, and faith. As the principal of the local Catholic school, he is a figure of authority who values clear rules and consequences. Initially, he struggles to comprehend the emotional chaos of the Ryan family and Alice’s decision to have an abortion, which conflicts deeply with his religious beliefs. His primary conflict is between his rigid moral framework and his love for his wife. While he first attempts to dismiss her concerns and impose his own will, his eventual decision to support her, stating, “I’ll go with you on Monday” (257), demonstrates a significant capacity for empathy and compromise, suggesting a path forward for their marriage.